Fading Action
by lye tea
Summary: Drabbles.
1. Dinner: Hollow Ichigo

**Character: **Hollow Ichigo

* * *

**Dinner**

There's a place on the far end of the table where no one ever approaches.

That place is barren, is devoid, is empty of feeling and sight. And is a remembrance too, of someone they all knew a long time ago. The touch, the thought is cavernous—_he likes it_. Something sacred, something _horrid_ (and demonic). Somehow, he's got it all down: Ichigo is sitting there (across from him) and facing The Family. Loud, obstreperous and infinitely annoying.

Ichigo.

The one on the outside, and he. Him. _It_. Stood looking in. Like through a window with no glass, just a diamond shell cut and split and revealing grotesque innards of some decayed animal. He can see all the dirty-stinking-rotten tricks they've planted in others' minds, his, and all their own.

The Family: The Father, The Sisters, and Ichigo.

And _him_.

The one looking in.

But there's a place on the far end of the table where no one ever glances at. Not even for a teeny, tiny, fracture of a minute.

Because that's his spot: the place where he sits (if he could, manifested in some form). And they all know this too. Because at every meal, there's a silver platter placed speck-and-clean on the tablecloth. Perfect.

Just like him. This he is musing.

(And sometimes, on the plate, there would be a head. Dinner Is Served.)


	2. Creep: Byakuya x Rukia, Gin x Rukia

**Pairing:** Byakuya/Rukia, Gin/Rukia

* * *

**Creep**

There is something wrong inside the Kuchiki household, something that no one is willing to comment on. There are the rumors, and there is the apocrypha. But there's no relation, no _evidence_, and soon, the suspicions are increasing.

And elongating.

And becoming more of a hassle.

. . .

He is disgusted, with him, her—and everyone else (but especially her).

"Clean yourself up."

She sighs (or giggles, or a combination of the two).

. . .

Byakuya and Ichimaru Gin do not speak. Usually. This is a firmly established mutual accord—a creed—and the first to break, the first to die. But this morning, Byakuya is surprised when Gin nods him a hello-how-do-you-do.

And gives him one of his peculiar, tight-knit smiles.

. . .

His grin is widening and dispersing its disease all over Seireitei, starting with the inner parts of the kitchen and spreading out to the gates. And they are catching up, soon.

Soon—

Byakuya is running (because Gin is still grinning).

. . .

He tells her to go away that night, which she agrees. It's becoming too awkward, too dangerous, too much like a liaison and not a tryst (there's subtle difference to be noted).

But as she's turning, he reaches for the loose ends of her robe, and amazing, the whole thing tumbles down and open.

And now, he is justifying this: there's no need to stop.

. . .

"Hot last night, eh?" Gin asks.

"Yes," and Byakuya responds, terse and polite.

"Sweet too."

But the conversation has ended, and he is sick to his stomach. While the other is laughing, devouring this by the whole.

. . .

The next day, Rukia is sent on a new assignment. Byakuya is grateful for this, for a reprieve.

And so is Gin. But he's also kind of disappointed too. Vicarious was better than nothing.


	3. Slut: Nemu

**Character:** Nemu Kurotsuchi

* * *

**Slut**

She's used to it, by now, after nearly a hundred years. But sometimes, someone or another would stop and stare and stare and _stare_ till she glared and they ran, like cinders about to flare.

_Scared_, she thinks. Good. That was how it is supposed to be. But she's got no biting wit, no sharp, infallible acumen that can tear down buildings (_skyscrapers_, the word she learned from Kuchiki) and hearts. That was the worst part. Almost like she is tied up—bound to—him.

And in a way, so it is

Creator, father—the ugly euphemism. It likes to mock, and its derisions are force-fed, hell-bent, born from fire. And woe. Because he's never failed to remind her of that. This is not existence, this is _convenience_.

And so, she conveniently forgot what was said.

_Slut_. The word comes out of nowhere, a slinking, sliding figure—there, disappeared. And not here, anymore. Someone (who?) said that and left and left her to feel like shit. But this isn't so bad (she is reasoning, thinking logically, being _rational—_being not human).

Because she doesn't even know the meaning of that word.

And somehow, it's got her feeling all enraged. All stuffed and bloated and thrashed around. Like him and her after _that_.

**-x-**

Nemu is told, made to reiterate again and again, a kind of torturous inculcation. (She is still speaking, wound-up like some demonic incantation.) That—

Slut means—


	4. Miss: Renji x Rukia

**Pairing: **Renji x Rukia

* * *

**Miss**

The words filter out of his left year. She leaves a scent, pungent and poignant—calling back memories from dead years.

He sees her leaving and wants to call out, tell her that she's being stupid, making a _stu_pid mistake. But he doesn't. Renji grits his teeth and learns control. Slow and steady, he teaches himself to breathe.

He learns.

-

She's been with him for years. They are like the roots that entwined and became a trunk then branches and leaves. She is the lofty flower at the top, the only one left that he can still grasp.

And now, she's fleeting away into a memory too.

Just like all of them, everything and everyone. Renji knows what being alone means and feels too, too well.

He has it ingrained in his mind; he has it tattooed on the back of his neck. A red dot, like a target.

-

Renji sees her sometimes, here, there, in the odd places where he never thought she would go.

He tries to speak to her but can never muster the courage (never reaches—_breaches_—the invisible wall he has constructed). He knows that she sees him too, through her glasslike eyes. Her all-seeing eyes. They scare him, but that, he would never say.

-

It's been a year since they talked.

Renji brings her flowers all-of-a-sudden. Red, white, and yellow. Simple and understated. She would appreciate that.

Only not. Only—

He doesn't know anymore.

Fast and discrete, Renji tosses the flowers out. They gather and fly and look like headless corpses where the stalks have been cut off.

They are in two different worlds now (he calls her Miss).


	5. Whim: Urahara x Rukia

**Pairing: **Urahara/Rukia

* * *

**Whim**

_Oh god, I am going to die _(if there were gods).

Ragged, jagged, pieces and parts ripping off in flying wisps, her soul slowly torn away. Everywhere they went, and Rukia fantically - eyes fixed and heart racing from despair - stole stranger strength and laid it to rest at heart.

_Is that blood?_ (ghosts don't bleed).

"Do you want to live?"

She turned her head - tried - and without glancing up, knew the voice instinctively: some demon crept close to kill her absolutley.

"I said," amused and wry, "Do you want to live? I can help you, you know. Give you a new body. A _substitute_ body, while you...regenerate."

(He's never been one for euphemisms.)

_Yes_, she heard inside.

He grinned widely, a little lesson on deception. Waved his hands (drama) and voiced some incantations (gratuity) and all of a sudden -

She was fine again.

_Make you holy and hell_.

"Thanks," Rukia muttered and stood up.


	6. Overture: Grimmjow

**Character: **Grimmjow, Grimmjow/Ichigo if you really squint. Sort of spoilery for most recent chapters.

* * *

**Overture**

_The end of the world had already begun._

Harribel told him this just before she got herself bound up and garroted, on the waitlist for an execution "some other day."

Unrepentant, abhorrent (fancies the sound of _that_) and maybe a shade too greedy, but he has his charms.

Tick-tick—tock: stop.

On the clock, Grimmjow hisses like he's been made (hey, call me king) and vacates suspense. Shit, he's tired of this same-old game. No fun, no glamour, not even a good carcass to chew. Nothing but trash. Since Aizen's deposition (down into the gutter-dirt grave) there's been this malaise of boredom.

He's had enough with traipsing like a drunk. Temptation whines like a bitch, and Grimmjow doesn't have the patience (stamina) for uptight hags.

So, come to think, it only makes sense.

"You should join us."

Ginning and sly, he leans over and whispers sickly-sweet: "Sorry, not interested."

"Careful. We are not usually this _generous_."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, seeing what you did to Harriblel."

"Yet you refuse?"

Grimmjow shrugs. "From how I look at things, I don't pose much of a threat. There's no point in killing me. Besides, I don't work for ugly beasts. Strains the eyes too much, ya know?"

"I suggest you rethink your decision. We will talk again. Soon."

Scowling, Grimmjow spits onto the ground. Preachy bastards always leave a foul taste behind, lingering past their prime.

And he's still got Ichigo to think about.

Dead or alive, he's coming to collect.


	7. Maiden's Prayer: Urahara x Ururu

**Pairing: **Urahara/Ururu

* * *

**Maiden's Prayer**

_One-half gin._

Never mind—he'll double the dose (quadruple the fun). With a snap of his fan, Urahara is prepared.

"Wake up," he says.

And she does. Large, vacant eyes and a hesitant smile. With a shaky hand, Ururu touches his cheek. Her fingers are sharp, tiny points of a compass, searching for an escape route. Gently, he takes her hand and eases her into becoming human-like.

_A splash of Cointreau_

He trains her hard in the subterranean basement, and she grows strong and durable. Proudly, he looks on as she somersaults in the air, crashing down, splintering the ground.

"Like that, Kisuke-san?" she asks, biting her lower lip.

He grins. "Yes, yes. Perfect."

He tallies up another success to their little games (she never fails him).

_Fresh-squeezed juice_

Urahara takes her to school while Tessa completes the morning chores. Ururu is shy, a shrinking violet. Therefore, Urahara must guard her carefully (jealously).

From the shadows, he watches her cross the street, her little feet striking up dust. During moments like this, he thinks she is almost normal. But then he remembers that she shatters concrete like peeling the skin from summer-plump fruits.

"For you, Ururu-chan." He hands her another watermelon slice.

_And a lemon peel for garnish_

As Tessa mutters healing spells under his breath, he holds her hand. Soft, soothing, he tells her that it'll be okay, that he'll be here when she wakes up.

One day, she will break (as all experiments come to an end). But he'll piece her back together—like he always does.


End file.
